


Potatoes in Greener Pastures

by EstaJay



Series: Love, Duty and Potatoes [3]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: (though you won't be seeing most of the other Links for a long time), Canon Divergence, Gen, Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), Trans Male Character, running away to raise your kid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25803511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EstaJay/pseuds/EstaJay
Summary: Despite all his protests, the Hero of Time must be returned to his original era - even if he has no home or family waiting for him.So Link's solution is to go back with him.
Relationships: Link (Hyrule Warriors) & Talon, Time & Warriors (Linked Universe)
Series: Love, Duty and Potatoes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746250
Comments: 25
Kudos: 168





	1. "An extremely intriguing development" by Cia

**Author's Note:**

> After Merry went "what if Tiny Time stayed in Warriors' era?" my brain leapt to "what if Warriors went back with Tiny Time to his era?"  
> This is another AU of 'Love is Not a Potato' which I do recommend reading beforehand as well as Merry's 'Little Sweet Potato'.

As the War of Eras draws to a close, so comes the need to return everything and everyone back to their rightful place. That includes a little boy with eyes older than they had any right to be, a little boy who sighs in resignation of the inevitability of everyone he knows leaving him. A little boy he refuses to abandon to the perils of life, to an era who doesn't know who he is or what he has done. A little boy he loves like a son and brings a light to his bleak dutiful life. 

So Link fights. For months he begs, please and argues until his throat is hoarse and ears deaf from his own screams. To follow duty would be to let the boy return to his era but his heart demands that he shouldn't be left alone. He wrestles with himself as much as he wrestles with half of the Guardian of Time.

In one timeline, a kick to the stomach wakes him up early. He visits Lana early and lets his heart lead him with no reminders of duty to curb his harsh words. The Guardian relents and he keeps the boy, becoming a proud father. Time shifts, small insignificant shifts mean nothing in the grand scheme of things but everything to their small human lives. 

This is not that timeline.

He is harshly reminded of his duty to the kingdom, of the lifeline that has kept him afloat and the chain that has dragged him down. Duty must always come first thus sacrifices must be made - all from the mouth of the woman he loved, the woman the boy calls nai.

It breaks him. 

In one timeline, he remains bound by duty. His voice has finally been silenced and the boy leaves. He devotes himself to duty, pouring out every part of his being into his vows and obligations, through endless wars and the death of what little family he has left. He gives his everything to duty until there's nothing left to give, until he is a hollow husk with blood soaked hands, reaching out for the last bastion of light in his life - a love that has somehow survived through the battle and bloodshed. 

This is not that timeline. 

Duty dictates that the boy cannot stay. 

His heart demands that the boy not be left alone.

When he enters Lana's tent that afternoon, she is prepared for his arguments to have the boy stay. What he says instead surprises her. 

"What duties do I have left in this era?"

She stares at him, speechless and stunned. 

"For what reasons must I stay here? Does this era need its bloodied war hero? Is the entirety of time pivoted on one man?" 

She says nothing and only stares. 

So he continues on. "You say he can't stay in this era but is there anything keeping  _ me  _ here?" He takes a deep breath. "If you're going to send him back, then send me with him."

And so time splits.

* * *

He writes three letters. One to his sovereign and best friend (he tries to be formal as he officially resigns from his position but throws a joke in where he can - and reassures her that there was nothing she could have done so that she doesn’t blame herself for nothing again), one to his uncles and mentors (it’s shorter than he would have liked but they would understand - they always do and the least he can do is tell them it’s no fault of their own), and one to his general and unrequited love (he debates even writing this one but if he can’t confess his feelings with his mouth, he might as well try with a pen). 

He leaves them on his cot atop a carefully folded green tunic and blue scarf. He has accomplished his duty so he leaves them behind. 

He steals away into the night, dressed as plainly as any civilian with a simple sword and a bag of supplies he doubts would be sufficient - but in his arms is his boy, his tiny arms wrapped around his neck and clinging to him tightly as if he would disappear like a waking dream. 

No. Never. 

He made his choice and he will never abandon his boy. 

He steps into the portal and doesn't look back. 

* * *

Link doesn’t recognise where they are. Of course he wouldn’t, this isn’t his era, but it is now. It will be. The portal had closed behind them and the only way to go back is to scream to the heavens and hope that Cia or Lana are listening, or wait until Cia goes crazy again and starts another interdimensional war - but there’s no need for either of that. 

He takes his first deep breath in the Era of Time. The air feels fresher here, cleaner. It doesn’t leave the metallic taste of blood and steel at the back of his throat or clog his lungs with smoke and grime. He knows the history, that there was a civil war barely a decade prior and another one due to come, but looking out the green rolling fields he can’t help but be overwhelmed by peace. 

They may be in the past but their past is behind them. This is a new start. 

Food, shelter, information. The captain part of his mind says. Secure those three for survival. But there’s no rush, no hurry. He has enough rations to last them several weeks and they would be fine camping out as long as it doesn’t start raining. He can even see Castletown, a speck of grey on the horizon - if they stick to the main road, they could be there in a week at most even at a leisurely pace. There is no need for soldier marches, to keep pressing forward until their feet blister and bleed and blister again. 

Young Link peeks his head out from the crook of his neck and stares out into the road. “I’m back.” he says quietly. 

“Anywhere that you want to go?” 

“Not really. I guess my only plans for coming back here was to look for-” The boy cuts his words short. 

There is only so much that Link has been able to piece together about his past. Trauma still lingers from his adventures, no doubt compounded from being tossed into a literal warzone. Link was seventeen with two years of military training under his belt when he had taken up the hero’s duty and burden and he had nearly cracked under the pressure. He can’t imagine what that would have been like at nine. No child should have ever had to experience that. 

He holds Young Link closer. “Then let’s take our time then. We’ve got all the time in the world, no magic required.”

The tiny Hero of Time giggles. 

There’s no rush to capture a fortress, no pressure to reach a cry for help before it’s too late, no paranoia that another day of war would increase the chance of turncoats among their tired-exhausted-frustrated soldiers. 

He lets Young Link down and they walk down the field girthed road, hand in hand with the weight of the world finally lifted from their shoulders. 

When they reach a crossroad, Young Link lets out an excited gasp. “There’s actually somewhere I want to go!” 

And no sooner are the words out his mouth, the boy all but drags him down the road. Link doesn’t need to see his face to know he’s smiling and there’s no stopping the one growing on his own. 

* * *

Talon considers himself a good man. He is not blind to his shortcomings. Ingo’s grumbles are not unfounded and he’d much rather spend his time napping on the veranda than dealing with the ranch’s accounts but he runs a honest business like his father and his father before him. He doesn’t cheat or gamble or drink and he raises his dear Malon to the best that any single father can. 

He knows how to keep his temper. When Malon gave Epona, the best horse they were raising on the ranch, away to some wild boy in green, he gave her a firm scolding and made his disappointment known. Ingos says he should have done more, berated her for the sale they had lost and turned her over his knee. If Ingo has such strong opinions on child rearing, then he should get married and have a child of his own to discipline as he pleased. 

He knows his daughter. For all her fantasies of a knight coming to sweep her off her feet, he knows that she has a good head on her shoulders as much as she has a warm heart in her chest. No matter what great yarns of quests and adventures that boy spun, she wouldn’t have given away the horse she loved like a sister if she didn’t believe he would take care of her. 

That is why when Epona returned to the ranch unharmed but riderless, he couldn’t help but fear that the worst had happened to that boy. 

There is little he can do to comfort Malon. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the boy likely died so he lets her take the chores near the front of the ranch, always watching for the boy to come running from the horizon. Ingo scoffs and says that he needs to break the harsh truth to her - once again Ingo, have kids of your own then you can raise them however you want. Talon has his own way of raising his daughter and he would tell her of the boy’s likely fate when he feels the time is right, just like how he told her of her mother’s passing. 

That doesn’t stop him from staring out to the horizon as well, muttering prayers under his breath that the boy would still be alive. 

Ingo scoffs at the both of them but doesn’t say anything more. Even he has a heart under all his bitterness. 

It is a day like any other. Talon reluctantly leaves the comfort of his sun-soaked napping chair to help graze the horses, ignoring the grumbles of “finally” under Ingo’s breath. His sweet little Malon helps in whatever ways a ten-year-old can, from herding cuccos with promises of grain to brushing the dirt out of horses’ coats, but her eyes are still fixed on the empty horizon - until it isn’t so empty anymore. 

A small gasp of “Fairy boy?” is all the warning he gets before Malon is running towards the approaching figure on the horizon, meeting him at the entrance of the ranch and sweeping the boy into a hug. Talon sighs in relief that the boy turned out to be alive. 

“Better watch that brat, boss.” Ingo says. “Or ya might be losin’ another horse.” 

Talon ignores him and instead focuses on the person awkwardly standing at the gate as the children chitter and babble. Huh. He has always been curious what sort of parents would let their boy wander the countryside alone. As he draws closer, he concludes it’s the sort that are barely old enough to be parents themselves.

Leaving the horses for Ingo to round up, he invites the boy and his young father inside for refreshments.

There is so much Talon can tell about the young man, barely more than a boy himself, before he says a word. He looks like a man who grabbed whatever he could then ran away as fast as possible, eyes darting about like he’s trying to settle some poorly hidden nerves. There’s also a high chance that he’s nobility. His tunic might lack the gaudy patterns and embellishments but the blue is too vibrant and well fitted for him to be a simple traveller. The way he sits as well, back straight and hands daintily folded like he’s in the audience of the princess, gives away he isn’t the type that should be travelling unguarded on the open road. He has a sword but Talon doubts that he can actually use it. He also doubts that the lad has anything practical in the bag he carefully guards. 

He claims to be twenty but the softness on his cheeks puts him at sixteen at most. Too young to be fathering ten-year-old boys but Talon doesn’t believe for a minute that tiny boy is the same age as Malon. 

“Thank you for your hospitality, sir.” The lad says. There’s definitely something posh and foreign about his accent. He might not even be Hyrulean. 

“No need ta ‘sir’ me, lad.” Talon says, placing two glasses of milk and two mugs of mild cider on the table. “Just Talon’s fine.”

“Then I am Link, Link Baker-Smith.” If he remembers correctly, Link is the boy’s name as well so that must make the boy a junior.

“Do ya actually know how to bake or smith?” Talon asks, biting back a remark that watching his household servants doesn’t count. The lad is making an admirable effort to hide his noble upbringing so he might as well entertain his ruse.

“Well enough. Not enough to make a career out of it but enough to get by.” At least he doesn’t have to deal with any noble arrogance from the lad. 

The boy reaches for a glass of milk but his father intercepts and swaps it for the cider. There’s barely any alcohol in it but it still makes Talon raise a brow.

“He’s lactose intolerant.” The lad explains, shooting a pointed look at his boy. 

“Lact-what?”

“He’s allergic to milk.”

“But it tastes so good though!” The boy whines. 

“It won’t be worth it when you’re whining from the outhouse.”

The boy pouts. “Milk is always worth it.” 

Talon laughs. He remembers how stubborn Malon could be when she insists on singing to the horses in the dead of night. “Your missus must’ve had a helluva time weanin’ him.” 

The lad blushes. “He’s adopted.” He says quickly. 

A bold face lie. Even a blind man could see the resemblance between father and son. The lad likely carries some shame for letting a night of fun go too far - at least he’s willing to take responsibility for his bastard unlike many other nobles who couldn’t give two shits.

“The two of ya headin’ anywhere?”

“Not really.” the lad says sheepishly. “We were on our way to Castletown in hopes of seeking out employment - for myself, of course, not for the boy then…” He trails off. This lad really ran away with no solid plans for his or his son’s future. 

Talon suppresses a sigh. A naive sheltered noble like him would be eaten alive out there. “Well, I’ve been needin’ some extra help ‘round the ranch.” 

No he doesn’t and no doubt Ingo would be loudly grumbling about having to break in a noble brat but the trio of wide smiles around the table tell him he made the right choice. 


	2. "I still have my doubts about this..." by Lana

For all of Lana’s resistance to his pleas and demands, Cia’s acceptance unnerves him. Her eyes glint like this is a plot twist that she hadn’t seen coming - then again, what was the entirety of time to its Guardian but an eternal stage play? The war was her leaping onto the stage, forcing the actors to work around her disruption. Now, the show has recaptured her attention. She’s willing to sit back and let it all play out. She will be watching him and Link isn’t sure if he prefers this cattish intrigue over lustful obsession. 

Lana is still apprehensive. She is the half of the Guardian that remained uncorrupted, who continued her duty despite losing most of her power. For her, time is to be kept orderly and the rules are rigid. For Cia, the rules are mere guidelines, to be bent and twisted as long as they are never broken. It all comes down to power. Lana, though moral, is the part that was stripped away from the Guardian while the bulk of the power was left to Cia. She’s the one who gets the final say. 

“Ironic that another timeline splitting event centers around giving the Hero of Time a better childhood.” Then Cia laughs. She isn’t possessed anymore but her voice still sends chills down Link’s spine. “You hold the hopes of so many, Young Link. Will you end up squandering this opportunity as well?” 

The boy flinches in his arms and Link hugs him closer. Their records say that the Hero of Time had prophetic dreams that saved the kingdom - but were they really dreams or were they experiences from another timeline?

“So you’re letting me go with him.” Link says. He’s dealt with more than his fair share political wordplay and half truths - what he wants is unquestionable confirmation. 

Lana shuffles but Cia’s grin grows wider. “I’ve seen you begging on your knees for the boy to stay, spit the harshest words, offer us absolutely  _ anything... _ and I’ve seen you give up - become the perfect dutiful  _ slave  _ to the Crown because goddesses forbid the hero actually have some reprieve for their tribulations.This is one of your more  _ creative  _ responses to this little conundrum.”  __

“Is that yes or no, witch?” Link snaps.

“You have twenty-four hours, no more, no less. There are  _ certain things  _ that won’t be available to you in the Era of Time. It’s best you prepare.” Cia turns and conjures a portal but not before throwing him a wolfish smirk. “This is going to be  _ fun.” _

Both halves of the Guardian depart for the Temple of Souls and Link is left with two questions: what does he need to raise a ten-year-old boy and, less importantly, what was the state of medicine during that era?

* * *

Talon has lived his entire life on the ranch but that doesn't mean he liked getting up in the wee hours of the morning. He feels a small body against his chest and tiny arms wrapped around his side. Malon has always had a habit of sneaking into his bed, especially after his dearest Momo passed away. It's still too early to wake her so he carefully slips out of bed and prepares for another day. 

He doesn't expect anyone else to be awake as he makes his way down to the kitchen, Ingo loves sleeping in as much as he does and he doubts their latest additions are early risers. Arnel, who's brother worked for the local lord, once said nobles had the luxury of staying in bed until late morning with a servant specifically tasked to wake them up on time. Talon would have to break Link in slowly, the last thing he needs is someone else adding to Ingo's morning grumpiness. Besides, it looks like the lad faced enough hardship just trying to get this far. 

But just as he enters the kitchen, the back door slams open. 

"No pants! Only freedom!" The younger Link hollers. 

"Oh no you don't, you little shit!" And the boy's father skids into view and sweeps the boy up before he has a chance to flee. 

Talon can't help but laugh as the lad tries to wrangle his boy into pants, getting several little kicks to the face for his efforts. He's blessed that Malon was a much calmer child at that age. 

"Ah! Mr Talon, sir!" The lad immediately straightens, his boy nearly slipping out of his arms before he corrects his grip. 

"Jus' Talon's fine, lad. I'm surprised ta see ya up so early."

"I thought seven hundred hours was considered late for ranch work."

"Seven- ya know military time, lad?"

Link blushes and splutters some incoherent words. Maybe he isn't run-of-the-mill nobility but rather from a knight family. There aren't many of those left in Hyrule after the civil war wiped most of them out. 

"Besides, it's jus' past three. You're up before the sun, lad."

Link blinks. "It's only three…?"

"You're four hours ahead from here." The boy chirps, giving him a consoling pat on the shoulder. "Adjusting body clocks is stupid hard."

Talon has never travelled any further from the ranch than Castletown but he has heard enough about travel lag to know that it's a bitch to deal with. Four hours though...the lad definitely isn't from Hyrule. 

"Si- uh, Talon?"

"Ya said somethin’, lad?"

His eyes nervously dart about for a moment before he says, "Would it be a bother if I bake something for breakfast?"

"I don' see why not."

“Umm...what I have planned would require a fair bit of flour and butter…”

“Well it’s a good thing that our ranch’s known for its dairy as well as its horses!” Talon says with a laugh. 

He sits back in a dining chair, blinking away the remnants of sleep as he observes the lad at work. Talon thought that he would have to keep an eye out for burning and wasted ingredients but the lad’s diligent, kneading and folding the dough with expert ease. With no added yeast, bread isn’t what he has in mind. The lad knows what he’s doing though. Maybe he’s one of those eccentric types that took up commoner crafts as a hobby - or he had been planning to run away for a while. 

Link had sent his boy up to their room with a wink and now the tiny patter of excited footsteps echoes through the house. 

The boy bounds back into the kitchen, arms wrapped around three mason jars. “You packed jams!” 

“I had to be prepared for your sweet tooth.” Link smiles. “Careful with those. We want them in our stomachs, not on the floor.”

A sweet fruity aroma fills the air as Link twists open a jar. The boy is already drooling and Talon has to stop himself from doing the same. 

“Those ain’t cheap.” Talon says. He had once had jam years ago when he was Link’s age. The jar was a quarter of the size and only half full yet his father had traded a good stallion for it. 

“Just some small luxuries.” The lad says, placing a healthy dollop on each portion of dough. “The cook wouldn’t have noticed a couple jars missing from the storeroom.” He turns and stares at the unlit oven. “Uh...how do you use this? I...umm, haven't used a stone oven since...my aunt's bakery and the ones I'm used to are steel with magic heat circuits."

Talon bites back a laugh. The lad may be a noble with some practical skills but he’s still a noble nonetheless. Though ovens with both metal and magic? The stuff nobles have access to just gets fancier and fancier.

With the pastries baking away (“I didn’t know you knew how to make Labrynnian pastries! I thought you only could make shitty burnt ones!” “Well you try baking over an open fire and we’ll see how that turns out.”), the lad’s clothing once again catches Talon’s eye. His tunic is a deceptively simple beige but the red trim, glowing and flickering like flames in the sparse morning light, betrays that it likely costs a year's worth of wages. Then the boy's clothing throws all subtleties out the window with bright almost blinding greens and golds woven into intricate patterns. 

Talon sighs. "About your clothes…"

"He enjoys bright colours and I wished to afford him some indulgence.” Link shrugs. “They’re off the rack anyway."

Off the what? "It won' be so indulgent when you’re tryin’ ta scrub the mud out of that fancy cloth." And what’s stopping a bandit from seeing the boy dressed like that and nabbing him for an easy payday? "What you’re wearing as well, lad."

"This is the plainest tunics I own!"

“ _ Magic dyes,  _ lad.” 

The lad pouts, an adorable mirror of when he slapped his boy’s little fingers out of the jam jar. “Everything is magically dyed where I’m from.”

It would be so easy to snap back and ask exactly  _ where  _ he is from but Talon couldn’t risk having the lad run off when he could barely take care of himself, let alone a child. "It won' fare well for ranch work. I’ve some old clothes that might fit’cha and some of Malon’s old dresses could fit the boy."

“Malon’s dresses are so pretty!” the boy pipes. 

“...you don’t mind if he wears dresses?” the lad asks, oddly quiet.

“Clothes are clothes. No need ta make it more complicated than that.” Yes, it would be odd for a boy to be running around in a dress, but at that age the main thing is trying to keep clothes on the brat. “Ya can save the fancy stuff for special occasions.”

Or sell if they need a quick buck. Talon would let the lad and his boy stay indefinitely but he wouldn’t stop them from leaving if they chose to. How prepared they would be at the time is another matter entirely. The best he can do is to not drive them away before they’re ready. 

If Talon thought the lad looked skinny before, the hand-me-downs make him look like a twig that would snap in a stiff breeze. He knows that he had a much stockier build than the lad at sixteen but with him drowning in cloth, he doubts that he could handle most of the ranch work without breaking a bone. Nobles are a fancy educated lot, maybe he could have the lad do his taxes or something while they get some meat on his bones. 

The boy was disheartened to have his pinstripes packed away but is soon twirling away in a faded cream dress Malon outgrew when she was five. Talon has no idea where the little green riding hood came from. 

“I found it in the bag!” the boy says with another spin. “It’s too small for a wrinkly old man like you so it’s mine now!”

“I don’t have wrinkles. Brat.” But the lad’s words are quiet and half-hearted. “...I don’t remember packing that...he looks like me at that age.” 

Oh right. Nobles have the weird thing of dressing their kids in dresses at that age regardless of gender. “Children tend ta resemble their parents.”

“...he’s adopted.”

Right - and Ingo is planning to swear loyalty to a pig demon. Talon wonders how long the lad will continue to insist his boy isn’t his by blood. 

The sweet smell of freshly baked pastries draws the rest of the house out of bed. Baked goods are apparently the solution to Ingo’s perpetual grumpiness as his old friend enters the kitchen led by his nose with an entranced smile on his lips. 

“Ol’ Sally drop by?” Ingo asks.

Talon laughs and gives Link a hearty slap on the back. “The lad ‘ere ‘as some ‘idden talents.”

Ah, and there’s Ingo’s signature scowl - but it’s soft and appreciative. Talon has known him for long enough to know he’s already softening up to the lad. “At least ‘e’s not completely useless.”

The boy growls at Ingo and starts shovelling pastries into his mouth before his father grabs his hand. 

“These are to share.” the lad scolds gently. 

The boy huffs. “Not with mean assholes.”

_ “Language.” _

_ “Hylian.” _

Link, junior and senior, glare at each other down. Once again, Talon thanks the goddesses that Malon was such an easy child. 

Malon staggers into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She yawns loudly, breaking the stare-off. “Mornin’ Papa. Somethin’ smells really really nice.” She blinks several times, bleary eyes staring at the younger Link. “Fairy boy’s a girl?”   
Talon doesn’t miss how the older Link flinches. He opens his mouth but no words come out. The boy, either unaware or unperturbed, slides off the counter, piling pastries into the folds of his skirt like a basket. 

“Nope, still a boy.” He grabs Malon with his free hand and leads her outside. “C’mon Malon, let’s eat somewhere where there aren't any  _ stinky meanies _ .”

The boy sticks his tongue out at Ingo before slamming the door behind them. Ingo isn’t the best with children but Talon wonders what he did to piss the kid off so soon. 

“Brat.” Ingo scowls but it doesn’t last long as he shoves a pastry into his mouth. His eyes widen as he takes his time to chew and swallow. “This is damn good pastry and  _ fucking good jam.  _ Ain’t it a waste ta have it for plain ol’ breakfast?”

Link blinks out of his stupor. “Food is to be eaten and enjoyed. I see no waste in that.” He then slightly bows his head. “I apologize for his behaviour. To say he would warm up to you eventually...is a blatant lie. Once he has found offence with someone, it is extremely rare that he would lose it. I will aspire to keep him in check but-”

“Your kid’s a brat and ‘e ‘ates my guts. No need ta butter it up.” Ingo snaps. 

“Still I must apologize. Children take offence at the strangest things, my one especially.” Link sighs. “Please watch your shins.” Then he coughs. “If you don’t mind me asking-”

“You’re rambin’ as it is. Jus’ spit it out.” 

“Ain’t no stupid question ‘round ‘ere.” Talon says.

“Are there any schoolhouses in the area?” Link asks but then he mumbles, “...if schools even exist here...”

Ingo scoffs. “We know ‘ave school ‘ere, ya fussy noble.”

“I am not a noble!” Link snaps. “I’m…” he trails off.

“There’re schools ‘ere.” Talon says. Best not let the lad dwell on an obvious sore spot. “But the closest are in ‘Town.”   
“Which town?”

“Castletown - or Goddess’s Crown if ya want it’s fancy name. It’s a good three hours on horseback, though so I was plannin’ ta wait ‘til Malon’s older before sendin’ ‘er off.”

“So homeschooling then.” Link mumbles again. “Hopefully the script isn’t too different-”

“What, ya write in Shink scribbles?” Ingo says loudly.

Ingo is his oldest friend but Din’s balls, sometimes Talon wants to sock him in his saggy nose for his utter lack of tact.

Once again, the lad’s eyes jump around the room in poorly hidden nervousness before landing on Ingo. “I can write in Sheikah  _ kana,  _ yes, but where I originate from, the standard Hylian script might differ.”

“And where are ya from, Mister  _ Not-Noble _ ?” Din’s balls, you inconsiderate-

Talon opens his mouth to smack some common decency back into Ingo but the lad quietly says, “...Calatia.”

“Calatia?” Talon says, barely hiding his disbelief. “As in ‘other side of the Herba Mountains’ Calata?”

“As in the Crown’s biggest debt collector Calatia?” Ingo adds. 

Link shuffles in his seat for a moment before nodding. “Yes. That Calatia.” 

Farore’s passing wind, the lad and his boy really had travelled far. 

Link straightens, his previous meekness replaced with a steel Talon hasn’t seen before. “I can teach Malon arithmetic and basic calculus as well as biblical lessons so that she will be at an adequate level for formal schooling. Grammar and literature, however, would have to wait until I can discern the difference between what I am familiar with and Era- your Hyrulean.”

“...that’s fair.” Talon says, slightly taken aback. In that moment, the skittish lad has been replaced by a no-nonsense merchant or an army captain - giving demands and orders thinly veiled as unrefusable offers. 

Ingo gives a harsh laugh. “It’s like you’ve got a fancy governess now.”

The lad flinches and the captain-merchant is gone. “I know how to use an axe. I can chop firewood for you.” he says quickly. “Or throw around bales of hay - or carry a pig up a mountain or-”

“No need ta be ashamed of what’cha can and can’t do, lad.” Talon interjects. He throws Ingo a sharp look warning him not to talk back. “Ev’ryone’s got their own skill set and can help in their own way.”

“...but that is not what is expected of a standard ranch hand.” Link mutters.

“Well I’m the owner of this ‘ere ranch and I’ll say that I’ll need more hands schooling than with labour.” 

Ingo scoffs and mutters something under his breath but that seemed to be enough to bring up the lad’s spirits. 

“..thank you.” And he knows the lad is biting back a ‘sir’. “I assure you, I won’t let you down.”

Nobles always have the oddest of values. Breaking the lad into the ranch would be as much breaking him out of those. 


	3. "Save your flowers for someone else" by Link

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: misgendering  
> A big thanks to Cy for creating a beautifully cheesy bouquet with the perfect meaning!

Link holds no illusions that this is going to be easy. On the contrary, this is likely the single most stupid thing he will ever do in his life. It’s the exact opposite of leaving his small town life in search of greener pastures and greater opportunities in the capital. He has the illustrious career of a royal knight, the prestigious glory of a war hero, riches and connections that should have been beyond a mere peasant’s reach - and he’s throwing all that away for one boy. 

No.

He has never cared about money or prestige. The only thing he has ever wanted is to be seen as a man and for the past five years he has been happy with that - everything else was just a happy consequence of that. Now, there’s something else that he wants, yearns for with every fabric of his being - to be with his boy and ensure the child is never left alone or abandoned again. 

It’s not going to be easy, moving to the city could never compare to  _ migrating to another era,  _ but the decision comes as naturally as choosing the name Link. 

He has twenty-four hours. Speed and efficiency is the name of the game. Everyone else gives him a wide berth, believing that he had given up and the boy had been returned to his era alone. They wouldn’t find out the truth until he and the boy are long gone. He already said his goodbyes, those letters with the hero’s tunic should make the message abundantly clear. 

Everything is gathered and packed with relative ease. There’s more than enough food in the kitchens that a couple rations here and a jam jar there won’t be missed. The same goes for basic medical supplies and camping gear from the army storeroom. He spends what coins he has on things that can’t be found in the castle, namely children’s clothes that don’t blatantly scream royalty, and converts the rest to pure rupee. The last thing he needs is to accidentally pay with coinage dated several centuries in the future stamped with the profile of an unborn queen. Rupees have been the universal currency for the known world for millennia and it’s not like magic gems are inscribed with their minting date. 

In approximately eight hours he has everything they need in terms of food, funds, equipment and clothing. That leaves the most important thing: information.

Link regrets sleeping through his history classes as he scours the dark dusty royal archives, only slightly illuminated by the artificial light spirit trailing after him. That’s another thing that he’ll need to get used to, the severe downgrade in technology. It would have been nice to bring one with him but the store was sold out, Madame Libra took a strict stock of light spirits in the castle and he didn’t have the magical capacity to make one himself.

By sheer luck, the next spine he skims over is ‘An Introduction to Utility Magic’. The light spirit bobs behind him, as if the ball of magic is curious. He’s tempted to bring it with him but chooses not to. Information introduced at the wrong time would have devastating results and he’s already messing with time as it is. 

However, everything else he finds leaves him frustrated. If it isn’t a genealogy of a long dead noble family, it’s another record of a war with Calatia - what vendetta did their northern neighbour to invade every other decade?! Link is reaching his wits end. Are there no books on the culture of the era? Of the geography? Of the written script? He has heard enough scholars complain about how much written Hylian has changed between eras despite the spoken language remaining largely the same. One long forgotten boundary could be the difference between a welcome or being thrown into a dungeon. 

Link quickly turns around at the sound of approaching footsteps. Another light spirit bobs into view from between the bookshelves - along with the last person he wants to see. 

"Linkle!"

He sighs. He really shouldn't be used to this but he has stopped expecting anything from Lord-Major Link Armitale, his most persistent suitor that was once his dear childhood friend Forest. Another consolation of leaving this era is that he never has to hear that name again.

The two light spirits merge into a larger magic ball, illuminating more of the archives. His heart sinks as he sees the bouquet. 

"Major Armitale." Link says with a half-hearted salute. 

He laughs. He’s wearing his oversized spectacles again instead of his contacts - a sight that painfully reminds Link of the sweet boy he no longer was. "There's no need for that, Lin! The war's over."

Link drops his arm and suppresses another sigh. "What do you want, Forest?"

Forest blushes and looks at the floor. It sends Link straight back to his childhood and he wishes that Forest had stayed that sweet boy instead of another arrogant noble who thought he was entitled to his crush’s feelings. "I know this is sudden but after all we have been through, I see no reason to delay this further." 

He drops to one knee and shoves the bouquet in Link's face. He has spent too many years dealing with Forest and his flowers to be ignorant of the meanings. The white gloxinia with its rich purple centre is a sadly familiar sight, Forest claimed ‘love at first sight’ and every bouquet he had given him had that flower. The eucharis lily, just as white but a yellowish-green in the middle, is another flower he has unfortunately recognises and is reminded of Forest’s many praises of his ‘maiden charms’. The rest send shivers down Link’s spine as their meanings register. An alternating ring of pure white magnolias and pink camellias entwined with promises of nobility if he allows Forest by his side - and a single red rose in the centre that magically blooms into a velvet ring box. 

Shit. 

"Zelda Linkle Baker-Smith, I want to make you my wife." Forest says with a bouquet loaded with a proposal speech that words can never justify.  _ ‘I have loved you since I first laid my eyes upon you and I long to be the man at your side. Let me give you the life of nobility that a beautiful maiden like you deserves to have.’ _

Ill-timed but it’s a beautifully and thoughtfully constructed bouquet that would have won the heart of any proper noble lady, of any girl in general. It is a proposal that any woman would gladly accept. Unfortunately, Link is none of those things. 

Against his better judgement, Link doesn't immediately say no. Everyone from Artemis to his uncles have told him that the only way to get someone like Forest to stop is to give him a solid no - but Link can't find it in him to break his heart like that. 

Instead, he says, "Now is not the time for that." 

Forest deflates, the flowers even wilting slightly with him, but there’s no missing the glimmer of hope in his eyes. He stands up but he’s only giving in so easily because he thinks there will be another chance in the future. “I’ll wait for you. I love you, Linkle. I’ll keep loving you and waiting for when you’re ready to say yes.” 

He takes the ring box out of the bouquet and presses it into Link’s hand.    
No. “Forest…”

“Hold onto it until it’s the right time.” Forest smiles so sweetly, nothing like the haughty smirks that Link had grown accustomed to during the war. It makes Link pity him more. 

That time will never come. There’s a fourth letter that Link needs to write because he isn’t cruel enough to take the ring with him or leave it behind with no explanation.

“So what brings you to the archives?” Forest asks. “You would take a sword over a book any day.”

“Research...on the Era of Time.” Link turns back to the bookshelf and lets the silence speak for itself. The rumour mill would have done enough to fill in the gaps. 

Forest places a hand on his shoulder. “They should have let you keep him - and that’s coming from someone that brat regularly terrorised.”

“He doesn’t belong here.” Link says carefully. He’s come this far, he can’t slip up now. 

“He belongs with people who care about him.”

“But duty-” 

“Duty conscripted me into the army, duty forced you into the frontlines - well, duty can go fuck Ganon.” Forest spits. Treasonous words but no one would fault him for being bitter of the war. “For all you’ve done for the kingdom, they should have let you have this one thing.”

Link has forgotten. When he puts his bigotry and flirtations aside, Forest is one of the best friends he has. 

He lets Forest pull him into a hug. “You would have made an excellent mother.”

Link flinches. “Forest-”

Forest misreads that and hugs him tighter. “Please, let yourself be happy, Lin. Don’t let duty control you like those soulless Shinks. You deserve better.”

Link gently pries Forest’s hands away. “Do you have any recommendations for the culture and living conditions of the era?” Best to change the topic before he gets it in his head to try and propose again. “Books have always been your forte.”

Thankfully, Forest straightens and backs away. “If that’s what you’re looking for, then you’re in the wrong archives.Those records are in the west wing library and scattered between several enciclopedias.”

Link groans, those ancient tomes are thick enough to kill a man and a pain to navigate. 

“...but I did make a research journal on the era a couple years ago. I could lend it to you.”

“Forest I could kiss you.” Link blurts out before he remembers who he’s talking to. “...but you won’t be getting it back.”

“That’s fine!” Forest says, his face completely red. “It’s in my quarters and probably has been rotting away on some shelf. You would put it to better use.”

Forest continues to ramble as he drags Link to his quarters, the combined light spirit bobbing above them. Link waits by the door, he knows that Forest can be forceful when he wants to be and the last thing he needs right now is to be causing a scene. He considers leaving before he can accidentally toy with Forest’s feelings anymore but then his old friend reemerges with an old leather bound journal bursting with pages. 

“Don’t mind the first couple pages.” Forest says as he passes Link the journal - his lifesaver for his new home. “My father insisted I do a genealogy and-”

“Thank you.” And against his better judgement, Link leans in and gives him a small kiss on the cheek. 

“Lin…” Forest clutches his cheek reverently. 

Link quickly turns away. He really shouldn’t have done something that would make his leaving harder on him. 

“Goodbye, Forest.”

* * *

Link wonders if it’s easier to forget. 

With sweet fruity jam on his tongue and light flakey pastry on his lips, he remembers his first couple weeks in the future era when Bigger Him would take his frustrations out on the dough in the servants' kitchen while he would watch unseen until he found the opportune moment to spook his grown-up counterpart. He also remembers the gruelling months that followed, when not even bland rations were guaranteed in the midst of an endless war. He always had something to eat but he wasn't deaf to the rumbling stomach that Bigger Him tried to hide behind flashy smiles. 

Beside him, Malon slowly munches away at her half of the pastries, savoring the sweet taste like she would never get the chance to have them again. The jams will run out eventually but he knows Bigger Him has tricks to sweeten up food without fancy sugars while he knows a couple berries and herbs that are both sweet and spicy. Sitting behind the barn, he remembers when Malon first dragged him back here, giggling with a plot to wake up her father. But he also remembers the future that will never happen here, standing in this very spot a head taller than Malon instead of it being the other way around, hugging her close as she sobbed out everything she had suffered under Ingo in the seven years he had been asleep.

"Your dad's really good at baking." Malon says. 

"He's-" but then Link stops. 

What is Bigger Him to him? Certainly not a captain or commander anymore. Bigger Him had said that he was Link's guardian, so is that something like the Great Deku Tree? But how is a dad different to that? 

His thoughts are cut short by the sound of footsteps and crunching dirt - three grown-ups. He remembers that it's likely just Bigger Him with Talon and Ingo but that doesn't stop him from flinching, from looking for possible escape routes and hiding places. It's hard to forget instincts sharper than steel. He remembers a future where nowhere was safe to relax. He remembers a town where he couldn't afford to relax. He remembers a war where he refused to relax while everyone else continued to struggle. 

It would be easier if he can forget all that. To not be a forgotten hero or a child soldier and just be a child again.

"Seems like we stumbled across a lil feast." Talon laughs. 

"So the brat did run off with most’a the pastries." Ingo grumbles. 

Link scowls and shuffles so he's between Ingo and Malon. He remembers a man so foul and bitter that he chased his former boss off the ranch then treated his daughter like a slave. 

Malon giggles as she leans around him with a pastry in her hand. "There's plenty ta share, Mr Ingo."

And Ingo actually cracks the tiniest smile. "Ya enjoy tha’ treat, lil Malon. Sugar settles better for ya young'uns."

That smile, genuine and caring, unnerves him. He remembers that this Ingo isn't the same bastard but that doesn't mean he forgets what he became when given the opportunity for power. 

He turns to Bigger Him who looks amused but is subtly signing, _ "Are you okay?" _

Is he? 

That's a better question for Bigger Him. 

Money, politics and influence are things grown-ups make more complicated than they need to be but he doesn't need to grasp them to know that Bigger Him gave up everything to be here. He remembers what it's like being thrown into an era no one knows of him or what he did. Given the choice, he would have stayed in that ruined future with a body that didn't fit with a land forever scarred. Better than a world that doesn't remember anything while he remembers everything. Better to be in the aftermath of devastation but with people he's forged bonds of blood, sweat and tears with rather than a time of peace where once friends look at him like a stranger. 

But that was the choice Bigger Him made and he won't undermine it. 

"We're givin’ Link the lay of the ranch." Talon says. "Wanna join?"

"Yes please!" Malon says, shoving the last of her pastries into her mouth and jumping to her feet.

Bigger Him offers him a hand up. He remembers that same hand being offered to him in the middle of a bloody battlefield despite soldiers cowering away like he was one of the monsters he had slain. He reaches both his arms out and Bigger Him immediately picks him up. 

"You're spoilin’ the brat." Ingo scowls.

Bigger Him doesn't get a chance to respond as Malon squeals as Talon hoists her up onto his shoulders. 

"You've gotta enjoy your kids while they're still young and your back is strong." Talon says. 

Malon leans forward, one hand buried in her father's hair and the other pointing straight ahead. "Ta the stables!"

He buries his face in Bigger Him's neck, feeling the laugh that rumbles through his chest and throat. He remembers that everyone leaves but he doesn't forget Bigger Him's promise to always be there. A quiet promise made in the dead of night when everyone told him that he had to leave,  _ that sacrifices had to be made _ , that he would stay with him. 

So he'll hold onto that promise and hope that it's something that he wants to remember. 


End file.
